


Blood Memory

by havisham



Category: Original Work
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Hook-Up, M/M, Vampire Hunters, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: His whole presence was seductive but there was a certain portion of Petruchio’s brain that screamed of danger, as some distant mammalian ancestor must have frozen in the cold gaze of a snake.It’s Carnival time in Venice and someone is killing the court beauties -- only Petruchio, a vampire hunter, can stop the horror.
Relationships: Male Vampire/Male Vampire Hunter, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47
Collections: Teratophilia Trade 2020





	Blood Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts).



It was Carnival in the floating city and one by one the exquisites of the Doge’s court were succumbing from a curious ailment -- their vitality stolen away, as was their lives. If one moved the fine silks and laces from their delicate necks, and the cause of their malady soon became apparent — the ugly kiss of a vampire.

Petruchio had been hired by the father of the first beauty to be struck down by the lingering illness — the Doge of the city himself. The vampire hunter was promised all the gold he could dream of, all the respect, and all the glory if he could slay the one who had brought death to beauty.

He was from a family that specialized in hunting such creatures, but it was Petruchio’s first solo commission. He was confident that he could do it — from the information he gathered from the surviving victims, it was only one vampire that was responsible for all the misery. Petruchio, though young, knew that he was equal to one single bloodsucker.

It was the last night of Carnival and there was a grand ball thrown by the Doge. While ordinarily the highlight of the season, the ball was sparsely attended that night, thanks to the wild rumors that swirled the mist-draped city.

Petruchio was dressed finer than he ought to be — the Doge’s steward had allowed him the privilege of wearing a mask and clothes fit for a prince. Petruchio’s own youth and beauty completed the look -- he was the perfect victim for the vampire. 

It was just after dusk when Petruchio thought he first saw a stranger, lurking at the edge of the ballroom. Every victim had given a different description of the vampire — some said he was dark, others light. Some thought him tall, others said not so. Where they all agreed was that the vampire was powerfully attractive, drawing all eyes towards him, and so it was the stranger.

He made his way directly to Petruchio, who feigned polite indifference to everyone in between himself and the vampire. 

“May I speak with you?” asked the vampire softly when he reached Petruchio. Petruchio inclined his head slightly and dismissed his hanger-ons with an impatient wave. 

The vampire was a man of extraordinary beauty, though his face was obscured by a mask. As he drew nearer, Petruchio observed the remarkable pallor of his skin, as if he had just risen from the grave. His eyes were dark, but with a faint reddish hue that were reminiscent of embers, dormant now but that could leap up into flames at any moment. 

His whole presence was seductive but there was a certain portion of Petruchio’s brain that screamed of danger, as some distant mammalian ancestor must have frozen in the cold gaze of a snake.

“What is your name, sir?” Petruchio asked, schooling his features into a pleasant smile. “I think you must be a stranger here, for none of my companions know you.”

“You are newly arrived yourself, I think,” said the vampire softly. “My name is Alfeo. Though some may be unfamiliar with me, my family and I have been a part of this city for many long years. And yourself?”

“My name is Petruchio,” he said, taking Alfeo’s hand and leading him away from the others. “And you are right. I am a newcomer to this city — would you be able to advise me on what I should see before I depart tomorrow?”

The vampire smiled. “I would be honored.”

Together, they drifted to the gallery that held the busts of all the previous Doges of the city, each white marble face marred with the same frown. Petruchio took off his mask. The vampire leaned closer to him, as if he wished to take in the aroma of a fresh loaf of bread, or a roast still hot from the spit. 

“ _So lovely_ ,” he said and reached out and caressed Petruchio’s face. “I feel myself having been starved for beauty for many long years. You revive me.”

“What dark and dusty place have you been that you were denied such pleasure?” Petruchio asked as he twined his hands through Alfeo’s dark hair.

He knew now why the other victims had spoken of the vampire’s seductive powers. Even as his stake waited, hard and ready, hidden against his side, he longed for a different sort of penetration.

“Nothing special, the place was dull —”

“As a tomb?”

The vampire had very sharp teeth. Not just his incisors, but the others as well. When he smiled, he seemed less and less human by the moment. And his allure only strengthened.

“Your family sends more and more untried youths out to the field. Do they not care for retention at all?”

Petruchio stiffened and reached for his stake. “If you show your hand, I’ll show mine, villain.” 

He thrust the stake into the vampire’s chest, only to watch with dismay when it popped out again with startling ease. 

“Oh _dear_ ,” said the vampire pityingly. “That could have gone better for you.” 

Then Alfeo bit him. 

*

It was a sublime, the bite of a vampire. Petruchio’s father had always warned him of it -- there was little one could do for a victim who found themselves enthralled by that sweet but painful bite. Petruchio had scoffed at that, had considered those turned by seductions to be weak of will and short of bravery, but now … 

It was as if he was falling down some great dark hole, feeling the rush and danger of it, but close at hand was the sensation of being held, securely against another, skin upon skin. The pain flared once, sharp as stiletto against one’s rib, but then it was washed away with waves upon waves of impossible pleasure. 

Petruchio, with great effort, wrenched himself away and stared at Alfeo, who wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“There’s something off about your blood,” Alfeo muttered. His tongue flicked out and licked at a spot of blood he had missed before. “It is delicious but not as -- _maddening_ as others.”

“It’s a family trait,” Petruchio said and reached out and slit the front of Alfeo’s doublet with a knife that he kept hidden in his boot. Under the fine silks, he saw a surprisingly robust corset, used both to clinch his waist -- and more unusually -- to protect his heart. Petruchio’s eyes met Alfeo’s, bewilderment meeting amusement. 

No wonder the stake hadn’t penetrated. 

“I think,” Alfeo said slowly, putting a lean and sinuous arm across Petruchio’s shoulder. “We can reach a private agreement between ourselves. Something we enjoy more than trying to kill each other, and could alleviate some of our -- urges. After all, it is Carnival.” 

“That would be a betrayal of everything I stand for,” Petruchio said coldly. “If I agreed, I would be a rogue and a coward.” 

“So, do you?”

“Naturally, yes.” 

*

When the Doge’s men found Petruchio again, he was smoking a pipe and looking out into the churning dark waters of the Adriatic. Dawn had finally made its presence known among the palaces and churches of the city. It was a mournful day. Carnival was over. 

“Sir, the vampire?” asked the bravest soldier. He did not flinch when Petruchio turned, to reveal a handsome face marred by three wicked-looking scratches that raked across his cheek. 

“He has been contained,” Petruchio told him, touching his scars. “And not without effort. You may tell the Doge that I will return next Carnival time to make sure he does not rise again.” 

“Of course. The Doge will be grateful for your sacrifices, I’m sure,” said the soldier. 

“Quite so,” Petruchio said, his gaze drifting back to the water. 

Petruchio returned to the floating city every Carnival time, until his death. No other victim was taken. And so beauty and life triumphed -- for a time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta!


End file.
